


Danger and Dalliance in the Dungeon

by KoreArabin



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Arse Appeciation, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Gags, Hoods, Humiliation, Leather Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Left in the dungeons to contemplate yet another humiliating failure at the hands of Robin's outlaws, Gisborne finds an unlikely way to pass the time, until he's confronted once again by Robin Hood in a rather embarrassing situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Well, well, well. This is pretty spectacularly incompetent, even for you, Gisborne.”

Vaisey nudges the dark mass on the floor of the dungeon with his foot, provoking a muffled grunt. Gisborne is trussed like a Michaelmas goose, his habitual black leathers punctuated with lighter bands where he’s been tied up; his upper arms, wrists, ankles and thighs all tightly restrained, his wrists and ankles in addition roped together in a hogtie. Gisborne just about manages to wriggle slightly when Vaisey pokes him in the buttock with the toe of his boot, but otherwise he’s pretty helpless.

Removing the sack from Gisborne’s head (he didn't need to see his face; it was _obviously_ Gisborne from the leathers), Vaisey is further amused to note that his second-in-command has been gagged, with what appears to be another length of filthy sackcloth.

Vaisey chuckles as the man at his feet stares daggers up at him. “They really have done a number on you this time, haven’t they Gisborne? Who was it? Oh, you can’t speak, can you. Hood? OF COURSE IT WAS HOOD, and you, Gisborne, are a bloody idiot!”

When Vaisey makes no attempt to free his second-in-command, Gisborne wriggles again and grunts, trying to gesture to the ropes, but Vaisey just laughs.

“You’re not seriously asking me to free you, are you, Gisborne, after this latest display of incredible ineptitude?” Even so, he bends down to remove the gag from Gisborne’s mouth, who coughs and spits at the foul-tasting material.

“Please, my Lord, free me and allow me another chance. I’ll not let Hood slip through my hands again, I swear. Free me and let me try again, my Lord.”

Vaisey muses. “No. I think it might sharpen your wits if I leave you down here in the dungeons to contemplate for a while, Gisborne. It’s very good for the soul, or so I’m told. I wouldn’t know. It’ll also give me an opportunity to think up an appropriate way to punish you – something creative, I think. Spectacular failure really rather deserves something equally inspirational in return.”

“No, my Lord! Is this humiliation not punishment enough? My Lor-“

Gisborne’s pleas are cut off abruptly as Vaisey stuffs the sacking back into his mouth, ensuring that the knots behind his head are still tight and fast. With a last smirk down at the dark eyes beseeching him, and a tousle of that impossibly black, raven’s hair, Vaisey leaves his second-in-command to his contemplation.

oOo

Gisborne lies still, seething with anger. How dare the Sheriff treat him so, leaving him down here in one of the most murky and foul-smelling dungeons under the castle? He is but one man against Hood's gang of outlaws, and he is a knight, a man of honour, not used to the deception and trickery practised by those ruffians. He will have Hood; he will have him under his hand again, and then things will not fare so well for the outlaw leader.

A sudden movement at the edge of his vision makes him jump - a rat! A big, dark-furred, thick-tailed brute, fattened no doubt on the rubbish thrown on the castle's middens. Normally, Gisborne wouldn't turn a hair at the sight of a rat, but the thought of being helpless on the floor, unable to prevent the vermin running over his body or even perhaps _biting_ him, is not a pleasant one. They have such sharp, yellow teeth, and Gisborne does not want holes gnawed in his clothing, or in his skin, for that matter, to add to his problems.

So, he begins the laborious and torturously slow process of squirming across the dungeon floor towards the door. Bound as he is, he can only move by rocking himself on his belly and using his thighs to push himself forwards. After a while, he is sore and breathless and the door of the dungeon looks virtually as unattainable as it did at the beginning. And, perhaps more of a hindrance to him than the shortness of breath, he has developed a rather impressive erection.

Gisborne has never bothered with the linen braies worn by many of his peers; he prefers to break in his leathers against his body, the oil and sweat of his skin over time making the material soft and supple and comfortably moulded to his frame. However, the lack of cloth between his crotch and his breeches has left the sensitive head of his cock rubbing continually against the inside of the smooth, pliable leather. Now, with each movement forward, he can feel himself leaking sticky fluid against the leather which, mingled with the sweat generated by his exertions, is producing the most wonderfully pleasurable sensations in his cock and balls.

Gisborne closes his eyes and rocks his hips and - ohhhhh - the feeling is delicious, thrusting into that hot, tight, wetness, almost like fucking - no - _better_ than fucking as there's more pressure on his cock than he's ever experienced with the tightest woman. Breathing heavily, he rolls his hips again, flexing his muscular rump, and thrusts, the dungeon echoing softly with his grunts and quiet sounds of pleasure.

"I have to admit that, for once, you have actually managed to take me by surprise, Gisborne. The mighty Sir Guy of Gisborne, groaning and rutting on a dungeon floor like the most wanton slut of the tavern. Well done, _Sir_ Guy. I really do confess myself quite - _dazzled_."

Freezing instantly at the sound of the voice, Gisborne opens his eyes and looks up; there standing by the dungeon door, his face split by the widest grin of barely suppressed mirth, is Robin Hood.


	2. Chapter 2

If looks could kill, Robin would most certainly be lying in a lifeless heap by now. As it is, he circles the bound man on the floor, chuckling to himself. When he and the others had dumped Gisborne in the castle dungeons after apprehending him in the forest on the road to Locksley, it had been to teach the cruel and proud knight a lesson in humility. 

They'd had a good laugh at Gisborne's expense, of course, at his discomfort and impotent rage, but that had been that and they'd headed back to the forest, expecting to think nothing more of Gisborne until the next opportunity to outwit him and take him down a peg or two.

So finding the good knight still trussed up, just as they'd left him, sans hood, is just too good to be true. Robin squats down in front of Gisborne, pulling his head up by the hair, so that Gisborne can't avoid his face. 

"So your beloved Sheriff's left you down here to stew, has he, Gisborne? Embarrassed him _yet again_ , eh? Poor Gisborne; even his master's turned his back on his devoted bloodhound."

Gisborne grunts around the gag, muffled noises that sound suspiciously like the most un-knightly language. "You want to do _what_ to my _what_ , Gisborne? I've always thought that you might be the perverted type, poncing about in your skin tight leather and guyliner, but really!" 

Robin reaches forward and pulls the gag from Gisborne's mouth. "Fuck off, Locksley. You've had your fun and now this gloating's just making you look pathetic. Piss off back to Sherwood and leave me in peace!"

"Pathetic, Gisborne? I'm not the one trussed up in a rank old dungeon trying to hump the floor. And I never knew you had such a mouth on you; Sir Guy of Gisborne could outswear the stinking fishwives of Billingsgate!"

Gisborne twists his head from Robin's grasp and closes his eyes. Perhaps if he ignores the bastard he'll get bored and leave him be. Surely Locksley must be at least a little concerned about being captured, here in the castle?

"Don't be like that, Gizzy. I was enjoying your little show on the floor. For all your faults, you've got a bloody nice arse on you - firm, solid - though more the sturdy peasant than the gentrified knight. Bet you can go for hours - go on, let's see you rutting again." Robin settles down on to his haunches as if to watch. "Come on, Gizzy, don't be shy. We're both men of the world."

"Just - _fuck off_ , Locksley!"

Seeing that Gisborne has no intention of playing along, Robin settles on a new course of action. Taking his knife, he cuts through the ropes restraining Gisborne's thighs, and flips him over on to his back. It's difficult; Gisborne's a big man, and solid with it, and Robin's much slighter and smaller in comparison, but fighting in the Holy Land and working hard in the forest have left him deceptively strong. 

Gisborne hisses in anger as his arms are pinned beneath him, his shoulders pulled painfully together, and his body bent like Robin's bow. His ankles are still roped to his wrists and he only accommodate the awkward position by spreading his freed thighs wide and arching his body upwards. Like this, the outline of his still half-erect cock is extremely obvious through the sodden leather of his breeches; indeed, some of his juices have even leaked past the laces covering his crotch.

Robin bends down and runs a finger through the sticky fluid, sniffing it curiously, before smearing it over Gisborne's slightly parted lips. Gisborne snaps at him, but Robin is too fast for him.

"Naughty. Do that again and I'll have to put the gag back in."

Gisborne hisses and squirms vigorously as Robin quickly slices through the lacings over his crotch before tossing them aside, but to no avail. The leather underneath peels away easily, and Robin puts it back and down to reveal Gisborne's twitching cock, still half hard in its nest of jet black curls. 

"My, my. So that's what's been lurking under that tight leather all this time, eh, Gisborne? No wonder old Vaisey likes keeping you around."

"Sod _off_ , Locksley."

Robin slips his hand further down inside the breeches, freeing Gisborne's balls, which he rolls slowly in his fingers, teasing the sensitive skin behind them, forcing a soft gasp from the man bound below him. Humiliatingly, Gisborne feels his cock start to stiffen again, which of course does not escape Locksley's attention. 

"Like this, do you, Gisborne, being laid out helpless before another man? Then again, I suppose you've had a fair bit of experience of that at your master's hands. What little tricks has he taught his devoted bloodhound? Do you beg for him, Gisborne? Beg for a little lick and a little taste, or just to be bent over and mounted for a good fucking?" 

Gisborne's voice is low and strained. "I'd rather you just slit my throat and got it over with, Locksley - that's what you want, isn't it? Then just leave me to bleed out in peace."

Robin's eyes narrow. "Be careful what you wish for, Gisborne. I may well leave you to do that, but it may not be your _throat_ I decide to cut."


	3. Chapter 3

Gisborne stills, panting. Locksley has taken the knife again and is slowly trailing it down from the head of his swollen cock and over his balls, nudging at the soft skin behind them with its wickedly sharp tip. Gisborne gasps, and closes his eyes tight in apprehension, gritting his teeth so hard he feels they must surely crack.

"Not ready to die a eunuch, Gisborne? Then keep your mouth shut and lie still."

Gisborne cannot prevent himself starting slightly when the warm hand closes around his swollen cock, stroking it gently, and again when another cups his balls and squeezes, not hard enough to cause real pain, but not gently enough to be without a hint of menace. Damn Locksley - Hood - whatever the bastard's name is. He has not the foresight to see into Gisborne's mind, but has stumbled upon his appetites by happenstance.

The struggle, the being forced; always it has excited his lust, right back to when he first learned what sexual desire was. A young man, landless and penniless, utterly dependent on others for the most basic necessities of life, how quickly he'd learned to dissemble, to play the meek, innocent, unwilling boy, or the enthusiastic catamite, readily complicit in his violation. 

There had been many men, but few _protectors_ and then, when he had thought that his repeated defilement must surely mark him for one of the damned, a sudden, unexpected, expression of enjoyment on the part of one knight he was servicing ignited a spark within him. 

A desire to _submit_.

But, oh, how he has fought it, what he regards as this perverse, base, sinful urge. Even the revolting Vaisey stirs it within him, relishing as he does dominating and humiliating the tall, strong, handsome knight bound to him. It all seems so very far away from the fanciful notions he entertained as a young man, those of the chivalrous knight, sworn always to do right and good against evil and injustice. Ha! How those dreams have turned out. 

Now, the only good, pure, element in his life is the Lady Marian, whom he loves and respects deeply. If only she would return his feelings and become his wife, he believes that he would be transformed, his base carnal desires and lust for worldly preferment sated and banished from him forever by her love. But, whilst he is bound to the Sheriff and forced to do his bidding, he does not delude himself that Marian will accept him as her husband willingly.

Gisborne is interrupted in his reverie by the feeling of hot flesh against his own. Glancing downwards, he is shocked to see that Locksley has freed his own cock from his breeches and is rubbing against him, smearing his own juices over the head of Gisborne’s cock.

“What are you doing? No, no – “

“Shhhhh, Gisborne. I told you you have a nice arse on you; think of this as my expression of appreciation. And don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this. You’re as hard as the Rock of Gibraltar.”

Any protests Gisborne is about to make are stifled by a long moan as Robin rubs himself again against the head of his cock, smearing their leaking slits together. “Ohhhhhhh…..”

“That’s better. Just lie back and enjoy it. I certainly intend to.”

Wrapping his hand around both of their lengths, he strokes firmly, pressing their cocks together in a hot, wet, sticky union of skin, juices and sweat, using his free hand to slip inside Gisborne’s breeches and finger the sensitive skin behind his balls and around his arsehole.

“Ahhhhhhhh….” Gisborne lets out another long groan of pleasure. 

Dear God, this is all just so – wrong – but at the same time so deliciously pleasurable he can’t help himself.

Pushing himself up between Gisborne’s wide spread thighs, and squeezing and stroking harder and faster, Robin looks down at the man groaning helplessly underneath him. Gisborne’s eyes are half closed, the usual crystal blue almost completely subsumed by the black of his blown wide pupils, his mouth, so often twisted by that cruel, mocking, smile, partly open, his breath quick with arousal.

He cannot resist dipping his tongue to those lips, circling them with the wet tip, provoking another low moan from Gisborne. “You dare bite me, and I’ll leave you here like this for Vaisey to finish you off.”


	4. Chapter 4

Robin bends further forward, licking at Gisborne's lips, before pushing his tongue gently into his slightly open mouth. He's cautious; he doesn't trust Gisborne further than he could throw him, and he certainly doesn't want to lose part of his tongue. But, rather than resisting or biting, Gisborne simply moans again, parting his lips and twisting his own tongue up to meet the one exploring his mouth.

Taking his hand from their cocks, Robin smears the juices on it over Gisborne's face, thrusting his wet fingers into the restrained man's mouth.

"Taste yourself, Gisborne. You smell of cock, and lust, and fucking. Do you taste as good as you smell?"

Gisborne groans. "I can taste you too, Hood. You're as fucking up for this as I am - no - more so. You started it."

"And so you want me to stop then, Gisborne, yes? You don't want this?" Another squeeze of Gisborne's straining cock. "Or this?" Robin nuzzles at Gisborne's throat, biting forcefully, leaving deep, livid bruises blossoming in his wake. "You want me to stop? Well, then, I'll just finish myself off and leave you to the Sheriff or the rats. The rats'll love the taste of your cock, I bet." A tweak of a nipple, swollen with arousal, provoking yet another stifled moan of pleasure.

"Well, Gisborne?"

When Gisborne stays silent, Robin stills completely, simply holding his gaze until Gisborne can no longer stand it. He arches his back and thrusts up against the outlaw on top of him, trying to rub their cocks together once again.

"You want something?"

Gisborne thrashes. He is too fucking close to be denied release now. But - even contemplating asking Locksley for it is too much. 

"No."

"Ah. So I'll be on my way."

"No! Locksley - "

"Yes?"

"Fuck you, Locksley - please?"

"What do you want, Gisborne?"

"Please - make me - _let_ me come."

Robin smiles, immediately thrusting himself up between Gisborne's splayed thighs, grasping their lengths together in tight, wet heat, squeezing and stroking, his other hand once again slipping into Gisborne's breeches. When he scratches again at Gisborne's arsehole, the knight begins again to thrust upwards, fucking himself against Robin's cock and Robin's hand. 

"Mmmmmore..."

"Hmmmmm?"

" _Please_."

"Then get these wet." The fingers are shoved into Gisborne's mouth, and he suckles obediently, soaking the digits with saliva. When Robin thrusts them hard into his arse, he can only throw his head back and cry out in a combination of pain and pleasure. "Ahhhhhhhhh..."

Then Locksley's tongue is back in his mouth, thrusting, forceful, and he's almost choking around it, but welcoming the invasion, trying to twist his own tongue back up to meet it, wanting his mouth to be raped, to be dominated by the man on top of him, his panting against the mouth of his ravisher only fuelling his arousal.

"Yes, yes! Please, Locksley, please! More!"

Another finger joins the two already in his arse and he groans as Robin twists them, stretching him, taking a perverse delight in the little whimpers of pain accompanying the moans of pleasure. Robin's growl into his ear is low and seductive. "I knew you'd love this, Gisborne. Knew you'd love having your arse fucked. God knows you flaunt it enough in those tight leathers."

"Fuck you, Hood. Just - fuck me."

Robin's hand speeds up on their cocks and then he twists his fingers inside Gisborne and bends them, and immediately feels him tightening around him. "Uh. Going to - going - "

Gisborne erupts below him, shouting as he shoots his semen over his belly and chest in three long, powerful spurts. Robin follows seconds later, splashing Gisborne's chest and neck with his own release. They lie panting for some minutes, totally spent and sated.

Eventually Robin manages to rouse himself and climbs off of the man still lying bound on the floor, tucking his cock back inside his breeches.

"Thank you , Gisborne. That was most - fulfilling." With this, Robin scoops up some of the semen on Gisborne's chest and smears it over his face. "There. Now you look fucked, covered in juice and sweat and come. And when the Sheriff finds you, I'd say you are _totally_ fucked."

"What? No, Hood, you can't leave me like this!"

"Tied up and covered in come? Oh yes I can, Gisborne - just watch me. But I'll tuck your cock away - I'll give you that."

So saying, Robin slides Gisborne's spent cock inside his breeches, pulling the leather over it and giving it a little pat.

"There you go. À bientôt, Gisborne!" 

When Gisborne makes no answer, Robin leans against the dungeon door with a little smile. "Next time it'll be that creamy white arse of yours I'll be taking, so keep yourself prepared, Gisborne."

Throwing a thick stump of whittled, smoothed wood at him, Robin departs. Straining desperately to see what it is, Gisborne's eyes widen. Ohhh. The shape of the carved wood leaves him in no doubt at all as to its purpose. A crude, but functional, rendering of the male organ, long and thick, tapering to a flared base. There can be no mistaking Hood's meaning.

Groaning, he lies back and closes his eyes. Locksley was right about one thing, though. When the Sheriff finds him, he truly is fucked.


End file.
